What the Shadows Fear
by SlugSLinger
Summary: The Grimm are rage and brutal, and utterly without mercy. But him... he is far worse. He will rip and tear, until it is done.
1. Prologue: The Gates Open

**Slayer Testament**

 _ **They are rage and brutal.  
Utterly without mercy.  
But you… you will be worse.  
Rip and Tear, until it is done.**_

Deep in the forests of Remnant, far from any sign of civilization, was a cave.

The cave was vast, and deep. So deep that whatever creatures that dwelled within it knew not the warmth or light of the sun, only the cold and damp air that seemed so still at times. But the creatures didn't seem to care, because they were creatures of Grimm.

Grimm. A word that haunted the denizens of Remnant for many eons. A terror that besieges all, both Human and Faunus, and desires nothing more than to kill and destroy all their works. None knew where they came from, only their purpose; to reap lives and lay waste to everything in sight. Though civilization still thrives despite this terror, all are still wary of the potential devastation they could bring if they amassed in enough numbers. Entire kingdoms would be overrun, and countless thousands would die to their savagery.

But this story does not focus on these creatures. No, it focuses on something worse. Far, _far_ worse.

For in the cave, in its deepest part, where light is an alien thing and warmth is non-existent, are a set of stone doors.

They are massive, almost twenty feet tall and ten feet wide. Both are covered with words in a dozen long-dead languages, with depictions of demons far more grotesque and monstrous than any Grimm ingrained on its surface. The demons were all converging upon one man, standing atop a mountain of dead demons; one hand on the throat of an unlucky demon while the other held a glowing red sword. Behind the man was a hooded figure with a pair of white wings, its arms spread out as though in welcome. Or in warning.

If one could understand one of the many languages ingrained on the doors, they would read:

 **So you walk eternally through the shadow realms,  
Standing against evil where all others falter.  
May your thirst for retribution never quench,  
May the blood on your sword never dry,  
And may we never need you again.**

The words were ingrained upon the door many eons ago, by a people long lost to time and the trampling of endless Grimm hordes. They were the survivors to a mistake, when the brother Gods abandoned their creation and desperation got the better of the ones left behind. With hordes of Grimm scrabbling at their walls and their armies exhausted from days for continuous fighting, they turned to heinous acts to gain the power needed to triumph against the Grimm.

Instead, they had unleashed Hell and paid dearly for it.

But before Remnant was conquered, the Doom Slayer intervened and drove back the hordes both demonic and Grimm. His efforts allowed those left to rebuild and prosper for a time. And in time, the people were erased by the Grimm, and with them, the memory of their savior.

But the Grimm remember. They know of the rage that had tempted so many of their kind to test their hides against his might, only to die horrid deaths. The memory of the Doom Slayer was ingrained into their very beings, turning into instinctive fear.

The Witch of the Dark Continent remembers, and thus she stations her minions at this door. Should he ever return, her ambitions would be in peril, and the Doom Slayer was sure to finish where left off.

But it had been so long now. So many years since the dreaded Slayer was last seen that a seed of doubt began to sprout within her blackened heart. Perhaps her vigil was but a waste of time. Perhaps her Grimm would be better off serving her and her minions in her mission to bring the Kingdoms of Man to their knees—

There was a flash of light and the Grimm in the cave stirred into wakefulness, shaking off the millennia of dust and moss as they investigated the source.

The massive stone doors pulsed with red light. Red like blood and fire and carnage. It pulsed again and again like a beating heart of some massive beast. The Grimm took an uncertain step back, recoiling as the light pulsed faster and faster and filling the words with red radiance.

Something hit the door from the other side.

It hit hard enough to shake the cavern, dislodging dirt and dust and stalactites from the ceiling. The sound rang like a hammerblow in the red-lit darkness. Then it rang out as something hit the door again. And again. And again.

Then they heard the chanting. Distant and muffled at first, but slowly grew in volume. Like an army bellowing their war-chants, marching closer and closer.

rip and tear

Rip and Tear

 _Rip and Tear!_

 _RIP AND TEAR!_

 _ **RIP AND TEAR!**_

Then, in a loud detonation that broke stone and sent many fragments flying every which way, the doors opened to reveal a tear in reality that swirled in a thousand different shades of red and roiled with the anguish and despair of countless thousands of damned souls. Through that tear, a figure stepped through.

It was a man, clad in green armor of a futuristic design. One bloody hand held a shotgun, still smoking from recent use, while the other held the large, severed head of a horned demon. The demon's face was contorted in a visage of fear and utter despair, and the meat that hung from its neck was torn, not cut.

The man had torn the monstrosity's head from its body.

The Grimm around the man growled and howled, their bodies tense and ready to fight. The leader of a pack, an enormous Beowolf, stepped forward and roared, the sound a mix of bestial rage and unnatural aggression. In the confined space of the cave it echoed and shook the ground.

The armored man dropped the severed head and roared back, louder and _angrier._ Far angrier than anything could ever be, with such malice that the alpha Beowolf recoiled in shock and… fear.

The Doom Slayer pumped his shotgun and advanced. The sounds of the slaughter that followed drew every Grimm for miles around, but they too failed to stop the Slayer.

On her throne deep in the Dark Continent, Salem felt something cold and heavy settle into the pit of her stomach. Something she hadn't felt in many millennia.

 _ **Fear.**_

 **A/N:** SlugSLinger is back at it again with a new fic! Honestly, I have no idea where this one will lead, but rest assured canon will be kicked off the rails and be covered in the blood and guts of many Grimm.


	2. In the Slayer's Wake

**A/N:** Here's the next chapter. Not much to say here other then a 'thank you for reading' and answering a review.

Big Smoke: In this universe, the Slayer is Doomguy from the original games after he vowed to stay in Hell and keep killing demons. This is after he kicked ass in the 2016 remake, of course.

 **x-x-x-x-x**

Outside the city of Vale was Beacon Academy. It was a place of learning where many aspiring Huntsmen and Huntresses went to learn and prepare themselves for their chosen profession as Hunters, the defenders of Remnant from Grimm and others. It was staffed by an array of skilled teachers, every one of them being peerless Hunters in their own right.

The Beacon staff was led by the Headmaster of Beacon Academy, the enigmatic man known by many only as Ozpin. The man was, and still is, a mysterious figure to Remnant's denizens. Few know his true origins, and fewer still know of his goals.

Seated in his office, at the top of the tallest tower in Beacon, Ozpin rubbed his chin in absent thought as he considered the video playing before him.

The recording was grainy and shaky, understandable since the one recording it must have been terrified out of their wits and not have enough funds to acquire more expensive equipment. But what _was_ recorded was enough to give Ozpin pause.

It showed a man, clad in green armor that looked to be a more advanced version of the kind worn by the common Atlesian soldiery. But that was as far as the similarities went as the man fought and moved in way that no Atlas trained soldier would. Killed with a savagery no normal person, even a Hunter, would be capable of.

In the recording, the man was shown gunning down a large pack of Beowolves with a large and blocky assault rifle in an open field, likely a farm of sorts. He spun around and a small box attached to the side of the rifle opened to fire numerous explosive darts that reduced the Grimm attempting to flank him to chunks of Grimm. He turned around again and bashed a daring Grimm in the face with the butt of his rifle, sending it sprawling on the ground.

He then stepped on its chest and gripped its open mouth. He pulled and ripped off the top half of the Grimm's head, throwing it at another Beowolf hard enough to stun it. The moment of weakness was its end as the man leapt upon it and literally ripped it to pieces.

The recording goes on to show more savagery inflicted against the Grimm, who then appeared to flee into the forest _,_ prompting the armored man to chase after them, thus concluding the video. That part in particular was what caught Ozpin's interest the most.

The Grimm _fled._ The creatures of mindless destruction that had terrorized civilization on Remnant for so long had run away in the face of something so… normal. Something their northern, Atlesian kin fought on a regular basis without the fear they displayed. What would have caused such a peculiar thing? Was it a Semblance? Was the armored man a Hunter?

Ozpin personally knew no Huntsman who went into battle with the armor the man wore. He even called James Ironwood, one of his trusted allies in Atlas, and queried about the mysterious armored man making news with his efforts combating the Grimm. But alas, even the General knew nothing as his own superiors were pressing him for information he did not have.

Quite the conundrum this is, then. Perhaps it is worth a look.

As if on cue, the elevator doors to his office opened and a man stepped out. He reeked of alcohol, his clothes were worn form continuous use and lack of cleanliness, and his face bore a stubble born from weeks without using a razor. Even his walk carried a drunken swagger in it.

The man was Qrow Branwen, and he was Ozpin's best spy. He was also one of the best Huntsmen on Remnant, though one wouldn't know from his looks and drunken demeanor.

"Qrow," Ozpin nodded. "Good to see you could make it on such short notice."

"Eh, figured you'd want to see me ASAP when you sent me that message." The man burped and scratched the back of his neck. "Good thing I was in Patch, then Took the first boat Vale and went straight here." The drunk sighed and stood at attention. Or, at least, a drunk version of it. "So, what can I do for ya'?"

"Have you been keeping up with the media circulating in the CCTS?" Ozpin asked, and Qrow nodded. "Then no doubt you've already seen this."

The Headmaster of Beacon showed Qrow the video. The Huntsman nodded again.

"Yeah, I've seen it. My nieces brought it up and showed it to me when I was at Patch." The man took a swing from his flask, growling at the burn the alcohol left going down his throat. "The guy looks kickass and kills Grimm as awesome as the next Hunter. So?"

"I've noticed a… peculiarity in the Grimm as he fights them." Ozpin paused the video, just as it was about to end. "The Grimm are running."

"Yeah, I noticed. They're mindless murderbeasts, but they ain't stupid. They'll change tactics as it fits and run away when they know something isn't working, but that's only if they're low on numbers. I count a good two dozen left and they're already running." Qrow frowned. "Two dozen is still a lot of Grimm, so usually they would've stayed and kept trying to wear the guy down. Running away with still so many is… well, weird."

"I concur. A very astute observation." Ozpin praised.

"I've got plenty of experience to draw from, nothin' new." Qrow rolled his eyes, taking another swing from his flask.

"Which leads us to the point of this meeting." Ozpin interlaced his fingers, resting his chin on them and gazing at Qrow through the video screen. "I need you to find him and ascertain the cause of the Grimm's sudden… fearful instincts. See if there's anything worth mentioning."

"Could be a Semblance." Qrow shrugged. "We've both seen weirder."

"Yes, but one that specifically repels Grimm?" Ozpin pressed. He gestured at the paused video. "This footage is bound to cause waves and attract attention, both good and bad. If someone with not-so noble intentions gets ahold of him and uses him to corral a sufficient number of Grimm and force them towards a Kingdom…"

"It'll be a massacre." Qrow grimaced, the implications clear in his mind and not liking any of them one bit. "Okay, I'll go looking. Where's he last seen?"

"Mistral." Ozpin reached into his desk and offered a cross-continental airship ticket. "In the southern regions, moving north. He's been stopping by major villages and settlements every now and then, gathering supplies and fending off attacks from Grimm and bandit tribes. It leaves in twelve hours. Good luck."

"Thanks." Qrow nodded, taking the ticket and stuffing it into his pocket. "I'll contact you if I get anything interesting."

Once the Huntsman had left Ozpin's office, the Headmaster wound back the video to the beginning. It showed the armored man marching towards the encroaching Grimm horde, back hunched over and hands balled into tight fists. He shook all over, but not from fear. His actions that would come after was evidence enough that the armored man lacked anything resembling fear despite the terrors he would face.

It was anger. Rage. A negative emotion so pure and concentrated that it would have drawn Grimm for many miles around, like flies to a rotting corpse.

For once in his life, Ozpin found himself pitying the Grimm for some strange reason.

Odd.

 **x-x-x-x-x**

They come in the hundreds, like an ocean of red speckled black surging in on a high tide. They run, prowl, crawl, leap, jump, glide, fly, slither, creep, and stomp like an army. They come in all shapes and sizes, usually in mockeries of animals; wolves that stand like men, crows the size of buildings with feathers stronger than steel, apes with bulging muscles and armored carapaces, lizards with mammalian snouts and stone-crushing jaws. Every one of them has a head incased in white, bony armor. Like skulls flayed of flesh and skin.

They descend upon the large village of Shion like a calamity, sudden and unstoppable. They terrorized homes, killed people, razed structures and defaced monuments to man's survival in the world. Guns fire and blades sing in the hands of valiant defenders both Human and Faunus, but they are not enough. Not nearly enough.

Then _he_ came.

Clad in green armor, dented and scarred from previous battles, he explodes from the darkness of the night like a bullet, screaming rage and malice in tandem with the blasts from his weapons. Grimm see him and rush to meet him in battle, determined to end him before he could jeopardize their Queen's plans.

They die, just like the countless others that came before them.

The Doom Slayer was a blur of green and gunfire, weaving through clumsy claw strikes and punishing them with lethal sprays of hot lead. What his shotgun couldn't reach, he used other weapons; a heavy rifle that spat large caliber rounds and explosive darts that turned whole Grimm into chunks, another rifle that shot bubbles containing hot plasma that turned bodies to biological slag, a cannon that shot magnetically accelerated slugs so fast they carved a bloody swathe through tightly packed pockets of Grimm, a chaingun with nine gun barrels that could unfold into a turret to turn bodies into either cheese or a fine mist, a rocket launcher that could fire multiple rockets in quick succession and scorch the ground where they hit.

The few monsters that managed to weather through the assault and close the distance were _brutalized_. Murdered in savage displays of raw physical might or turned to smoking meat at the muzzle of a double barreled-shotgun. A particularly lucky few met their grizzly end at the rapidly spinning blades of a chainsaw that hacked through their bony armor as easily as it did the vulnerable flesh beneath.

Alabaster Quin was a resident of Shion, a fairly attractive human with thick brown hair and skin like freshly fallen snow. She was born and raised there, with dreams of continuing her family's humble work of cooking food at the restaurant they owned. When the Grimm attacked, she was the first to help the town guard, her hunting rifle-polearm scything down many monsters as they came to the town's defenses. But they were too many, too frenzied, and eventually broke through.

She had considered breaking into village airport and making off with a Bullhead, despite not knowing how to fly one. But then the man came and her plans of escape ground to a halt in the face of his savagery.

She watched him fight from her hiding place inside a half-wrecked home still wet with the blood of its former residents. Her weapon was held loosely in her aching hands, all but forgotten as she took in the battle- no, the _slaughter_ that took place before her eyes.

He moved out of a Beowolf's lunge and literally kicked its head off its shoulders. Grabbed the dissipating body by the army and used it as a club to beat another three Grimm to death before the it dissipated entirely. Knocked a spinning Boarbatusk off-course into the side of a house with a blast from his shotgun, ripped off one of its tusks, jammed into its eye and rammed it deeper with his boot. Snatched a diving Nevermore, pinned it to the ground, and ripped off its wings. Grabbed a biting Creep, clubbed it at another to disorient it, and ripped it in half from its mouth. Punched _through_ the chest of one Beowolf into another, ripped out the second one's heart, and stuffed it down the maw of the first.

All of it he did with his bare hands, and it paled in comparison to the carnage he caused with his weapons.

Who was this man? Where did he come from? Atlas? Some kind of high-tech Hunter with a raging murderboner for all things Grimm? And where did he put all his weapons away? None of them were present on his person despite his frequency of changing them on the fly. Was it a Semblance?

Then a new challenger appeared; a pair of Beringel, ape-like Grimm strong enough to rip a man limb from limb without even trying. They beat their chests and roared at the armored man in challenge. He responded by shooting at them.

The buckshot rounds glanced off their bony armor, leaving deep grooves in it. The Grimm seemingly took offence and charged, the ground shaking in the wake of their apish movements. The man moved aside and switch his shotgun for the blocky assault rifle, spraying explosive darts at the Beringel's backs. The Grimm roared in pain as fire blossomed and scorched their hides. One of the Beringels turned and charged for the man again, but he was ready this time as he switched the rifle out for a double-barreled shotgun.

The man rushed forward, seemingly to meet the Grimm in a test of strength. But at the last moment, he slid under the Grimm and grabbed it crotch. The shotgun was shoved into its rear and—

The resulting scream was so painful that even Alabaster couldn't help but wince in sympathy.

The man jumped on the whimpering, shaking Beringel's back and made his way up to its head. He jumped, raised a boot, and brought it down on the Grimm's head hard enough to crush it. The monster slumped to the ground, lifeless.

But in the midst of executing the Beringel, he had neglected to keep track of its partner who had circled around to the man's side. The still living Beringel capitalized on the man's lax guard to attack with a wide sweeping arm that caught the man's front and sent him flying. Alabaster gasped; even trained Hunters wouldn't survive a blow like that! That man must've been dead!

The man bounced off the ground once before his left arm shot out and dug its fingers deep into the dirt. The limb slowed him down, leaving behind deep furrows in the earth where his extra momentum had carried him he stood back up, Alabaster gaped at the deep indent on his chest, vaguely shaped like a closed fist.

The man _growled._

Strands of red energy crackled from him, traveling up his limbs and converged on his dented chest plate. Before Alabaster's very eyes, the metal bent back into shape in a blink of an eye. The Beringel took an uncertain step back

The man stood in place for a moment, fists shaking as though in _outrage,_ before he reloaded his shotgun and ran forward.

The Grimm roared back and charged out to meet him.

The man fired twice and obliterated the Beringel's legs, forcing it to its knees. The weapon was reloaded in a blink of an eye and emptied just as quickly into the Grimm's left shoulder. The monster swung with its remaining arm madly, trying to hit its opponent despite its grievous injuries.

The man grabbed the Beringel's arm and _pulled._ Alabaster heard bone break and flesh tear, and the Grimm screamed. But the man wasn't done.

He punched the Beringel's face and flipped it onto its back while it was still stunned. He raised the Beringel's own dislocated arm and brought it down upon its face. The Grimm managed a look of utter fear before its head was crushed by its own limb.

The armored man tossed aside the limb and roared. The Grimm roared back, but refused to step forward. He pulled out a chainsaw and charged into their ranks, splitting heads off shoulders and limbs from bodies like a storm of blood and guts. Alabaster watched it all with awe, feeling something rising in her, in time to the beating of her heart.

She gripped her weapon hard and left her hiding place, joining the dozen or so other who had witnessed the armored man's battle and were equally awed.

Awed and inspired.

The man roared and Alabaster joined her voice with his. The others as well, a sound of righteous fury and empowering rage that rang out for miles. They ran after him, killing the maimed Grimm left behind in the wake of the man's carnage until her caught up with him and fought by his side. His rage suffused through them, empowering them, driving them to further and greater acts of brutality against the monster that _dared_ attack their home.

When the sun rose hours later, the once unstoppable Grimm horde was reduced to piles of dissipating bodies and small packs of fleeing remnants. The man was gone, hunting after the survivors to ensure none would ever come back. Alabaster and the others cheered for him as he left, the words leaving their lips as one in the light of the rising sun

 ** _"RIP AND TEAR!"_**

 **A/N:** Now before anyone gets too happy, the next chapter won't be up until next Wednesday, hopefully. Life is getting busy again for me, so please be patient while I crank out another update once I've dealt with life. Thanks again for reading and hope you enjoyed!


	3. Making Waves

**A/N:** A'ight, chapter two is up. Nothing more to say here, other than a quick Author's Note at the bottom.

EnriksD8: I was planning to do it anyway, but consider your request granted!

 **x-x-x-x-x**

The Bullhead was much too slow for Qrow's liking. If he were less impatient, he would have already barged out of the craft and _ran_ the rest of the way to Shion, but he had long since outgrew his idiotic teenage years.

He had arrived in Mistral four days ago and had immediately met up with one of his numerous contacts, intent of locating his target; the mysterious armored berserker capable of instilling fear into Grimm. Many of his informants lacked the info he wanted until one of them mentioned a large Grimm horde being repelled from Shion, a relatively small village on the southern region of Mistral and one of the few with an airfield capable of housing aircraft.

Normally, Qrow wouldn't have batted an eye. Villages in the Wilds went dark on an almost regular basis; its inhabitants either overran by Grimm or taken over by a strong bandit tribe. It was a fact that many experienced Huntsmen had long since come to terms with; you couldn't save everyone. His own Semblance didn't help refute that fact one bit.

But what _caught_ his attention was how the Shionites managed to repel the Grimm horde. According to his informant, they rallied under a Huntsman in green armor wielding large weapons who fought with an almost animalistic brutality and rage.

Qrow immediately called the airport to book the first flight there. To his surprise, the operator apologized and said there weren't any available flight to Shion as most of the available aircraft were being redirected for relief efforts. They were to deliver supplies and manpower to help the village rebuild, and they had no room for extra passengers.

A good thing then, that Qrow was a Huntsman.

The cargo hold inside the Bullhead was cramped, filled with crates laden with supplies. Food, clean water, clothing, everything and more tucked into every available space there was.

Beside him were a team of four Hunter trainees, one of three sent from Haven to act as bodyguards and help with the reconstruction efforts. The other two were riding on the other Bullheads, with one of them riding with the professor sent to oversee their duties.

The team Qrow was with were composed of teenagers, two boys and two girls. They were as teenagers were, and their antics annoyed Qrow more than he cared to admit.

"So, like, Vivian was acting so much like a _bitch—"_ went one kid, a girl with a frilly shirt and curled-up twintails.

"Oh, I _know_ right? And did you see her clothes? They were, like, so _old school—_ " went the other girl, short with an armored pauldron and chainsword.

"Do you think May has a boyfriend yet? Do you think I got a chance with her?" asked one boy to his compatriot, who was busily trying to ignore him.

"Dude, the fuck would I know? Just ask, she's right there—"

Qrow sighed and fought back the urge to hit them with his sword. Gods above, was he _that_ chatty back when he was a brat? Was _Tai_ that chatty too? No, he was the stoic badass of the team— wait, no, that was Raven. His sister was never a chatty person to begin with. Her preferred method of communication involved sharp swords and stabbing it into others. His was alcohol and drinking songs while bashing other people's heads in. Ahh, those were good times. Maybe he and Tai should get together for a guys night out—

There was an explosion and the Bullhead rocked perilously, snapping Qrow out of his thoughts. He braced a hand against the Bullhead's interior, steadying himself as the aircraft shook and ignoring the panicked cries of his fellow passengers. He peeked out the window, eyes tracking for the attacker.

"Pilot!" Qrow barked. "The hell was that?!"

"Hostiles firing anti-air from forest!" the man barked back, regaining control over the craft. "They'll shoot down the other Bullheads if they aren't stopped!"

Qrow grumbled under his breath. Of course his Semblance decided to fuck things up now, and after giving him false hope for an easy trip, too.

"Open the door." Qrow rose. "I'll take care of 'em. Get your cargo to Shion safe."

"You sure, sir?" the pilot asked even as he flicked a few switches. Qrow snorted and drew his flask from his jacket.

"Just open the damn door already." Qrow took a swig out of it as the Bullhead's doors slid open. Strong winds buffeted his frame but were nowhere near enough to topple him. He turned to the kids. "You four stay here and keep the plane from crashing. I'll meet you all at Shion."

"What about you?" the lead brat asked, bringing his weapon up.

"I'll be fine." Qrow scoffed. What was he, a rookie? "Save your strength for when you guys get to the village. Later."

He stepped back and fell to the greenery below, his Aura shielding him from the anti-aircraft fire sent his way. His reached back and drew his weapon, grip tightening as the ground rushed up to meet him. He readjusted his stance mid-fall as he hit the treetops, letting his feet break through the branches and leaves to lessen the damage to his cloak. It was a gift he got from Summer back when they were still in Signal, and he would be damned before he let it get damaged any further.

He raised his sword and swung just as he fell through the tree cover. His blade fell with enough force to shake the entire forest and send whatever wasn't heavy enough flying every which way.

He rose, instinct coming to life as he took in his surroundings. Men in low grade armor wielding mass-produced weapons escorting light tanks. Possibly a few experienced Aura users in their midst wielding lo-quality mecha-shift weaponry with low to non-threatening Sembances. Nothing he couldn't handle, and they'll likely have information he could use.

He thumbed a switch and his sword mecha-shifted into a lightning edged scythe. The mercenaries backed away.

"You guys saved me a boring flight." Qrow groused, walking forward and idly spinning his scythe in one hand. "I'll do one of you all a solid and keep you alive for the info you got. Everyone else is gonna die. And lemme tell ya, plasma hurts like a bitch…"

 **x-x-x-x-x**

He chases them, relentlessly. A green, ironclad figure of death whose heavy strides sound like nails being driven into coffins.

He kills them, gloriously. Every broken body left in his wake becoming proof that fear was a choice, one many had begun to decide they were better off without.

He fights them, unfalteringly. Standing before the tide of claw and talon and fang like an avenging angel and force of nature in one.

Every blast of his weapons scours the earth of midnight flesh and living nightmares. Every blow of his fists shatters the bone white masks that have hounded civilization since its inception. Every step he takes spreads his rage and empowers the weak, turning the dim lights of their fledging souls to raging bonfires that drive back the dark further and further. Every village and settlement he saves spreads the righteous rage further to more people, who join the growing hunts in greater numbers.

The Doomslayer does not care about this. He's too busy killing Grimm to notice.

The pack of Beowolves he chases lead him up a mountain, the last survivors of a once thousand-strong horde. They come to a stop before the entrance of a cave, littered with old weapons and covered with uncountable claw marks. It is home to a great monster, one responsible for the destruction of hundreds of villages and the deaths of countless thousands. It is an emaciated horse with a horned, humanoid upper body stuck to its back. On the humanoid's back are weapons from a myriad of defenders who failed to stop it, worn and paraded like hard-earned battle scars.

The Beowolves rally around it, their base pack-hunter instincts returning to the forefront of their minds alongside a miniscule shred of hope. They growl and roar as the armored monster steps into the cave a moment after, determined to not die here at its ironclad hands.

The Nuckelavee screeches, the noise loud enough to deafen those without an Aura and shatter reinforced windows. It rattles the cave and dislodges a few stalactites from the cave ceiling. A few fall on the Doomslayer's form, breaking harmless against his bulk. The Beowolves join their roars with their larger kin's voice, malice and murderous intent leaking into the very fabric of their being in preparation for a fight that would go down in history.

The Doomslayer produces a rocket launcher and fires a five-rocket burst in answer.

The resulting explosions from the turn the smaller Grimm into smoking chunks and makes the horse-half of the Nuckelavee rear back in surprise and no small amount of pain.

The rocket launcher is replaced with a pump-action shotgun. Its underslung grenade launcher fires its payload onto the Nuckelavee's exposed belly.

The Grimm's two mouths screech again in rage, and the humanoid half spins. Its spindly arms flail about wildly like whips, carving open stone and breaking a few of the fragile weapons in the cave. One of the claws catch the Doomslayer's side and the armored man is sent tumbling across the floor. He recovers and continues firing, red energy repairing the deep gash on his side and the holes on his armor.

He replaces the grenade launcher with the rapid-fire attachment and unloads more shells into the Grimm faster. The monster roars in agony, its horse half charging forward and knocking the Doomslayer onto his back with enough and tumbling across the stone floor. His impacts scatter old weapons and crumbling bones, throwing up a cloud of dust in his wake.

The Doomslayer pulls himself back up and walks through the cloud, the sounds of dented armor bending back into shape and broken bones being mended overshadowed by the sound of his deep growling.

The shotgun is replaced with a heavy assault rifle. The explosive dart launcher attached to the side of the weapon's barrel opens and unloads its dangerous payload onto the monster. Tiny explosions blossom across its length to singe fur, burn exposed flesh, and crack bony plate. The Grim retaliates by flicking its spindly limbs like whips, throwing the Doomslayer's aim and forcing him back.

Back into a wall.

The Nuckelavee screeches in triumph and charges forward at full speed, the head of its horse-half angled low to enough to try and pulp the Doomslayer.

The man crouches low and jumps. The boosters in his boots flare in activation and propels him higher, enough to avoid being pasted by the Nuckelavee's horse-head. He lands on the horse-half's neck and replaces the rifle for his chainsaw.

The weapon roars to life with one tug of its engine cord, and digs into the horse-half's neck to send viscera and Grimmflesh everywhere. It eviscerates the bony plate, pulps through midnight flesh, and destroys meat as easily as a child tears apart wet paper. The Nuckelavee screams and thrashes about in agony until the horse half's spinal cord is severed and the beast's lower half tumbles to the ground in a heap.

The monster screeches and flails wildly, too overwhelmed by pain to form a coherent method of attack. The Doomslayer keeps out of the flailing limbs' range and grips the neck stump of the Nuckelavee's horse half.

He pulls and throws the Grimm into an open part of the cave that leads out into a cliff with a spectacular view of the world beyond.

The Nuckelavee watches in dawning horror as the Doomslayer slowly approaches, his weapons put away and leaving him with just his fists. It lashes out with one spindly arm, but the Doomslayer catches it and _pulls._ Puts his weight behind his furious tugs, digs his armored heels into the cave floor and marches back far enough to stretch the captive limb to it absolute farthest limit. The Grimm howls, battering the Doomslayer with its remaining limb until he escapes out of the whip-arm's range.

Until the captive whip-arm snaps in two.

The Grimm screeches again in agony, the sound making the Doomslayer puff his chest up in something like pride and satisfaction. He marches up to the flailing Grimm, hops onto its prone form, grabs one of its horns, and slugs the side of its face. Then he brings the monster's face down to his knee, rupturing an eye and damaging the frontmost half of its mouth. Fangs and chips of bone-plate come off, tumbling off the armored gauntlet and splattering all over the floor over the noise of its agonized screeches.

By now, the Grimm has all but given up. Its remaining arm lies limply on the cave floor and its remaining eye is laden with hopeless despair.

The Doomslayer laughs, a booming sound so cold and malicious that Dark Witch watching the carnage unfold through her minion's eyes _shivers_.

The man grabs one of the Nuckelavee's horns and wrenches it free with one good tug. He flips it in his hand to hold it in a reverse grip, then plunges it through the monster's remaining eye. The monster screeches again, the loudest it ever has, a cry for help and a plea to end its suffering in one. The Doomslayer raises a heavy boot and stomps on its neck, snapping bone and stopping the annoying noise forever.

The Grimm's body begins to disperse into black smoke, drifting out from the opening and into the sky.

The Doomslayer watches the smoke rise, then holds out a hand the comb his fingers through the smoke.

 _"Scans complete."_ A voice announced to the Doomslayer. _"Initiating prototype energy reclamation systems."_

Microscopic pores along the Praetor Suit, made through fine manipulation of stored Argent Energy, open and draw in the black smoke that was once a Grimm. Not all of it, but a enough to serve as an experimentation sample for future use. The pores close, and the Doomslayer grunts, walking away while ignoring VEGA's incessant chattering about alternative energy sources and possibilities with the collected 'exotic matter'.

So long as the A.I doesn't get in the way of him killing these wannabe demons, then it can do whatever it wants to his suit.

Though, those potential suit augments sounded interesting…

 **x-x-x-x-x**

Atop her throne, Salem took deep breaths and tried to calm her racing heart. Tried to dispel the rising fear and quell the feeling of helplessness welling up in her chest.

Her creations couldn't stop him. Entire hordes had been thrown at him and died. Ancient monsters, some older than the Four Kingdoms, were torn apart and killed with a savagery that she thought humans were incapable of doing. She had even assumed control of her creations and fought the man through them personally. She still lost and her controlled creation always died.

But that laugh… That horrid sound, so raw and visceral…

Was that what the humans felt whenever one of her stronger and older creations manage to corner them after some amount of playing? Fear and utter helplessness? She knew what it felt to be the one who inflicted feelings, but to experience them from the receiving end was—

She shook her head. Not now.

She composed herself, willed her fear away as the doors to her throneroom opened and a man walked in. His scorpion tail waved sedately through the air and an excited smile played on his lips, the muffled sounds of barely contained mirth bubbling to his face. The man stopped before her and knelt, head bowed in reverence.

"You summoned me, my Queen?" Tyrian Callows grinned. Salem forced a smile onto her mouth.

"Tyrian," she drawl, a finger brushing her lower lip. "I have a task for you."

 **A/N:** Now we can see VEGA getting ideas on what to do with the smoke that Grimm turn into when they die. Salem's getting panicky and sending Tyrian out to deal with Doomguy. Qrow's on Doomguy's trail and is fending off people who'd want Doomguy for themselves... All in all, a good place to cut off.

Any questions can be directed in the reviews. I'm expecting you guys to point out any errors for me to edit out, so don't be afraid to speak out! Learning from mistakes are what makes us grow, after all!

So, that's all from me. Thanks for reading and have a nice day, wherever you all are!


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